


Bound to You

by Orcusnox (Cat9894)



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, spideypool - Fandom
Genre: AU, Actual plot, But sometimes it is, Fate & Destiny, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Multi, Red String of Fate, Sometimes that shit ain't right
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-06-01 09:16:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6512413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat9894/pseuds/Orcusnox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just your average string of fate fic... Except not really.</p><p>(Because since when is anything that involves these two <i>average</i>?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Threads Are Stupid

    Threads were stupid.

    That was twenty year old Peter Parker’s very valid, mature opinion on the threads of fate he couldn’t see. It was an opinion that had been with him since he’d turned sixteen, met Gwen, and had her tell him that his thread wasn’t attached to hers.

    Of _course_ Gwen could see them. Of _course_ MJ could see them. Of _course_ every single one of his love interests could see the obnoxious red thread around his pinkie finger. And _of course_ they could all see that the end of his thread wasn’t attached to their pinkies.

    Peter couldn’t see the threads himself. Neither could Harry, but MJ had told him straight away that he was _hers_. And after she wore Harry’s initial disbelief away, Harry turned into the kind of sickly sweet, sappy in love person he and Peter had used to make fun of.

    Peter wasn’t even sure what finger his thread was on. Gwen hadn’t told him before she’d… Before she’d _died_ , and MJ had lost the ability to see the threads when she and Harry had finally gotten together.

    Peter sighed and held up both his hands, glaring pointedly at his pinkies. “You suck,” he muttered.

    “Oh baby boy!”

    Peter jerked his head around, glancing over his shoulder in time to see a very muscular, very familiar figure clambering awkwardly onto the roof behind him. Peter blew out another sigh.

    “Deadpool,” he said as neutrally as possible.

    “Heya Spidey! I saw your feet, thought I’d come up and say hi!” The mercenary bounced towards him, talking a mile a minute. “But what are you doing, sitting here? Shouldn’t you be swinging through the city, jizzing on – sorry, _webbing_ – the bad guys? Oh, I know! You’re Tarzan!” He took a deep breath in, before letting loose an extremely loud, amazingly accurate, Tarzan yell.

    “Huh,” Peter replied, poking his ears beneath his mask. “That was loud.”

    “Baby boy, I am _always_ loud. You should hear me during sex!” The mercenary paused. “No, seriously. You _should_.”

    “I’ll pass,” Peter said easily.

    Deadpool whined. “But Spiiiidey…” He dropped down to sit next to Peter, the warmth from his body immediately blanketing Peter’s left side. “What are you doing up here all by your lonesome, baby boy?” he asked. “I mean, it’s a nice view… If you’re into that sort of thing?”

    Peter smiled. “Just thinking.”

    “About anything in particular? No wait, let me guess! Hmmm… The mysteries of the universe?”

    “Nope.”

    “Damn. About why dogs are better than cats?”

    “No. I like cats better anyway.”

    Deadpool gasped. “Blasphemy!” He paused. “Coke vs Pepsi?”

    “Guess again.”

    “Left or right!”

    “If you say up or down next, I’m going to push you off the roof.”

    “But Spiiiidey!” Deadpool pouted. “Tacos vs burritos?” he asked a second later.

    Peter sighed, amused despite himself. “No, Wade.”

    Deadpool pretended to fan himself. “You said my name! I know, he said _my_ name! How do you know my name? Are you _stalking_ me?” He gasped, almost falling from the roof as he leant further into Peter’s space. It actually didn’t make him as uncomfortable as he expected. “The great Spiderman is stalking Deadpool?”

    “What? No! I’m not stalking you! If you Google “Deadpool”, Wade Wilson comes up.”

    Deadpool made an excited noise. “You _Googled_ me?”

    Peter groaned. “Shut up,” he said half-heartedly.

    Deadpool was bouncing again. “You _did_!” he exclaimed. He abruptly froze. “Wait, why did you Google me? Were you going to hire me? Baby boy, if there is someone you want dead, I’ll do it for free! As long as you’re, like, 3000% sure. Because I don’t want you beating yourself up over something stupid like that –”

    “No, Deadpool. I didn’t Google you so I could hire you,” Peter replied. “I don’t have a reason why, alright? I was just… Trying to distract myself. Maybe.”

    Deadpool tilted his head. “From what’s bothering you now?” he asked, surprisingly intuitive.

    Peter didn’t see any point in lying. “Yes.”

    “Well, I tried guessing. Apparently I’m no good at that, so now you _have_ to tell me!”

    Peter tilted his head back to stare up at the sky. “The stupid threads,” he muttered.

    “You mean the shit around your pinkie?” Deadpool asked. “Can you see who you’re paired with? Whoever they are, they gotta have some mad luck to be at the end of your thread!”

    Peter turned to stare at Deadpool. “How do you figure?”

    Deadpool paused, frown obvious beneath his mask. “Whaddya mean, how do I figure? You seen your ass in that suit, baby boy?” He wolf-whistled, and Peter blushed beneath his mask.

    “I don’t really think whoever is on the end of the thread will be happy because my ass looks okay in spandex,” he muttered.

    “Okay? _Okay_? Baby boy, your ass is _magnificent_. The best. Perfection. I would worship that ass a million times a day. I could wax poetry about your ass –”

    “You already do,” Peter said with a sigh.

    “And it is great poetry, am I right?” Deadpool grinned. “In addition to the ass of perfection,” he continued, “you’re also a good guy, you’re funny, you’re fucking _Spiderman_ for crying out loud!”

    Peter couldn’t reply to that. He understood what Deadpool was saying, but he wasn’t _just_ Spiderman. He was Peter Parker too, and Peter Parker was the one who needed to be worried about any potential soulmate person.

    “So you can’t see your thread?” Deadpool asked.

    “Nope,” Peter replied.

    “Huh,” Deadpool said thoughtfully. “Totally thought you could see it.”

    “You were wrong.”

    Deadpool snorted. “Yeah, I am a lot. I can’t see mine, either.” He was quiet for a moment. “Not sure I have one anymore.”

    Peter looked at Deadpool curiously. “Anymore?” As far as he knew, there wasn’t a way to lose a thread… Unless the person on the other end _died_. “I’m sorry,” Peter babbled immediately. Of _course_ he’d be an insensitive shit at just the right moment. “I am so sorry. I didn’t – shit, that was so rude. I’m sorry.”

    “Why’re you apolo – _oh_! No, baby boy, you got it all wrong!” Deadpool turned fully to face Peter, shaking his head. “It’s not – I’ve never been able to see the thread,” he explained, “but I was… I fell in love with someone anyway. _Properly_ in love, not just one of those annoying little crushes. We were going to get married and everything. Adopt a cat. Steal a child. Or was it the other way around?”

    Peter blinked. “That… That can _happen_?” he asked, because the way the media told it, getting with the person at the other end of your thread was the only way to live happily.

    “Of course. What, you think people who lose the person on the end before they even _meet_ them live their lives in solitude and misery?” Deadpool snorted. “If that was the case, we’d have more monks and priests and nuns swearing themselves to God or whoever. Nah, baby boy, people like that? They _adapt_.”

    “But you… You had a thread? Weren’t you… I don’t know, _worried_ about the person on the other end?” Because even if the idea of falling in love of your own violation was appealing, Peter didn’t want to forget about the other person.

    Deadpool shrugged. “Like I said, I couldn’t see the thread. Ness couldn’t see mine either. Hers… Hers was black and twisted before she learned to walk. She lived with it, you know? She used to tell me my crazy matched her crazy.” Deadpool laughed, the sound soft and affectionate. “I asked that little fox to marry me.”

    Peter felt like he was prying. Deadpool was _never_ this open. His past was something he _didn’t_ talk about, not even on pain of death. Peter opened his mouth, worried that Deadpool might not actually want him to hear all this, but Deadpool spoke again.

    “And then I got the cancer,” he said quietly. “The rest you know, I guess. I figure with the amount of times I’ve died… Well, the person on the other end of this thread must be pretty fucking pissed if we’re still connected, am I right?”

    Peter shivered a little at that. “I think they’d have figured out who you were by now, if they could see their thread die and then come back,” Peter replied honestly. “Maybe they just can’t see it either.”

    “Maybe,” Deadpool said, but he didn’t sound like he was agreeing with Peter.


	2. Not Everyone Gets a Happily Ever After

    The next time the pair of them saw each other, it was a few weeks later and Peter was busy dealing with the Rhino, who had somehow managed to escape his specially made prison. Aleksei was already de-suited by the time Deadpool arrived, skipping over to Peter and looping an arm around his shoulders.

    “Heya Spidey!” he said. “You look like you were in a hell of a fight! Sorry I missed it – I am a fighting _master_ , I could have totally given you some pointers!”

    Peter rolled his eyes. “Hey Deadpool,” he said in greeting. “I saw you watching, you know.”

    Deadpool squeaked. Actually _squeaked_. Peter had no idea how his voice managed to get that high. “You did not!”

    “I… I did, actually.” Peter cocked an eyebrow he knew the mercenary couldn’t see. “Are you doubting me?”

    “I am a _ninja_ , Spidey! A fucking ninja! We don’t get _seen_!”

    Peter choked on a laugh. “I could have been really mean and said I _smelled_ you,” he pointed out. “Or heard you. Which is entirely more probable.” He hadn't actually  _seen_ the mercenary until something had tingled down his spine, warning him that someone was watching. It wasn't quite spider sense, but it  _was_ helpful.

    “Why you gotta be so rude?” Deadpool whined.

    Peter made an offended sound. “Says _you_!”

    “That’s _rude_!” Deadpool exclaimed. He bounced on his toes for a moment. “Tacos?” he suggested.

    “Can do,” Peter replied, wincing at how damn _tired_ he sounded.

    “Let’s go, baby boy!” the mercenary said, pumping his fist into the air as he danced back down the street. Peter followed dutifully, waving awkwardly at the pedestrians who gawked at him, so used to seeing him swinging overhead. It was like the thought that Spiderman _walked_ hadn’t even occurred to them.

    Peter couldn’t help but glance morosely at his pinkie. The person at the other end… He wondered what they were doing now – if they were in New York, if they were worried about never finding him, if they even cared…

    “Oof!” Peter gasped, nose colliding with Deadpool’s broad back.

    “We’re here,” Deadpool announced, pulling Peter into a decent looking Mexican place – the kind Peter generally couldn’t afford. “I’m a regular, I come here _all_ the time – hello, Annita!”

    “Hello Mr Pool,” the young woman at the counter replied with a pretty smile. Then her eyes landed on Peter, and she gasped. “Spiderman!”

    Peter gave a watery smile - which she couldn't see - and jerked his arm in the approximation of a wave. “Hello,” he murmured.

    It took her a moment, but eventually she recovered. “What can I get for you today?” she asked. Peter stammered out his order, unable to stop his sense of relief when Annita tore her eyes away from him to look at Deadpool. “Usual for you Mr Pool?”

    “Yes thank you Annita! And whatever Spidey’s having, I’m paying.”

    Peter spluttered. “N-no, Deadpool, I can pay –”

    “Oh shush, bubble butt,” Deadpool interrupted, waving a careless hand. “I am _made_ of money. Besides, you’re totally doing me a favour by hanging out with me.”

    “I – this isn’t a _favour_! I thought we were friends?”

    Deadpool just… Stopped. Annita looked nervous, her wide eyes flicking over to Peter in a way that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his muscles tense and relax reflectively. Very, very slowly, Deadpool turned around.

    “How do you figure?” Deadpool demanded.

    Peter blinked, thrown by Deadpool’s apparent hostility. “I – you – we had a heart to heart!” Besides, he  _did_ actually like the mercenary - Deadpool was the first person to ask him what was wrong and then  _actually_ listen. Besides, the guy was funny. But that was all very embarrassing to say so Peter left it at that.

    “…On the roof?” the mercenary asked, masked face curiously blank.

    “Yes?” Peter tilted his head. “Does that… Does that not count?”

    Deadpool was silent for an inexplicably long moment, before every muscle in his body relaxed and he moved forward to place both of his large hands on Peter’s shoulders.

    “Oh my sweet summer child,” Deadpool whispered.

    Peter blushed. “My birthday’s actually in October,” he felt compelled to point out.

    Deadpool made a dismissive noise. “Close enough! So, Spidey, we’re _buddies_ now? That mean we can have sleepovers and game nights and _oh_ , team-ups! Do we get a super-secret handshake? Make all the boys _jealous_!”

    “Order up, Mr Pool,” Annita called before Peter could respond. Deadpool spun away from Peter to take the bags of food and pay the woman. He gave Annita a wave and dragged Peter out of the shop.

    “To infinity!” Deadpool shouted, letting go of Peter to point his finger up at the roof.

    Peter sighed, smiling underneath the mask. “And beyond,” he said quietly, wrapping an arm around Deadpool’s waist and webbing them both onto the rooftops.

    “Thanks for the lift, Spidey. I could have impressed you with my climbing skills though.”

    “I climb better than you any day,” Peter replied easily. Deadpool cackled and winked, which of course made Peter blush and drop his face into his hands. “How do you make _everything_ dirty?” he demanded, voice muffled.

    “Tis a gift,” Deadpool replied, opening up the bag of food. “So, nice fight,” he said, tossing Peter his order. “You seemed a little distracted, though.”

    “I did?” Peter asked.

    Deadpool nodded, his mask already rolled up to his nose and his mouth full of what seemed to be half a taco. “Just a bit. Didn’t make your ass look any less fabulous, I promise.”

    “I – thank you?” Peter replied, frowning.

    “What was on your mind?”

    “Same thing as last time,” Peter said with a sigh.

    Deadpool tilted his head. “Why the threads bother you so much? You can’t see them.”

    “But it’s still _there_ ,” Peter said, glaring at his pinkie. “And there’s _another person_ at the end. Someone who’s supposed to be my ‘perfect match’.”

    “You don’t believe,” Deadpool guessed thoughtfully.

    Peter shook his head. “No, I do,” he corrected. “My aunt and uncle were fated. Apparently my parents were too, but I don’t remember them. But I _do_ believe that there’s someone on the other end – I _know_. And that’s what bothers me.”

    Deadpool raised his hand. “The boxes and I are confused.”

    “I’ve…” Peter hesitated, taking a bite out of his burrito. It was good, better than the cheapo place he usually went to. He made a mental note to stop wasting his money there and come here instead.

    “You’ve what?” Deadpool prompted. “Spidey, you can’t leave me hanging here! What are you thinking about? What were you going to say?”

    Peter blinked. “I hope you know those are two very separate questions. I was thinking about how good this burrito is, actually.”

    “I fucking _told you_!” Deadpool crowed. “See? He _does_ like it!”

    “I do,” Peter confirmed.

    Deadpool looked to be on his fifth taco. “Wait, what about the other question?”

    Peter sighed heavily. “I don’t think I deserve to have someone at the other end,” he muttered.

    “Say _what_ now?”

    “I’m – I’ve been _selfish_ ,” Peter explained, trying to find words. “I mean, I’ve fallen in love with people. People who _weren’t_ – they had someone on the end of their thread, and I went in like I had… _Dibs_ , or something, because I’d met them first.”

    Deadpool made a confused noise. “How is that selfish?”

    “Because given the chance, I would have happily ruined their happiness,” Peter said, thinking of Gwen and MJ. “I can’t see my thread, and it’s a blessing and a curse because I can fall in love, but I keep falling in love with the _wrong_ person and how in the hell am I supposed to know when I’ve found them?” He stopped, cramming food into his mouth to stop the flow of words.

    “Wow, Spidey,” Deadpool said, voice soft. “That’s a bit fucked up.”

    Peter flinched. “I know,” he muttered, shoulders hunching defensively. It really _was_ bad if the mercenary agreed with him.

    “You really think you’re the bad guy?” Deadpool asked. “Spidey, seriously! What the hell?”

    Peter blinked. “Um,” he said.

    “Falling in love is what people do, Spidey! You can’t make yourself stop caring.” Deadpool turned his head away, muttering angrily. Peter assumed he was talking to his boxes. “Yeah, alright, now shut up. I’m trying to help a friend.” Deadpool paused, head tilted as he listened to whatever response came. “Of course I believe him! You think he’d lie about something – look, we’ll have this conversation later. Shush now.”

    “Deadpool,” Peter began, but the mercenary held up a hand.

    “No, you shush too, Spidey. These threads?” He wiggled his pinkies. “They’re not always right, you know. The media can pump out every happy story they want, but the truth is that sometimes the person on the end _isn’t_ right for you." When Peter simply stared at him, Deapdool huffed. "You know, they’ve done studies on whether or not the threads can be tricked.”

    “They have?”

    Deadpool nodded. “And you want to know something? They can.”

    Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “ _How_?”

    “The mind is a powerful weapon,” Deadpool replied. He grinned. “Scary powerful, as it happens. People have _tricked_ themselves into believing someone is their fated, you know. Like with Stockholm syndrome. Leave that shit alone for too long, and you’ve got a pair of accidental fated.”

    “Wow,” Peter muttered.

    “But that’s, like, _extreme_ circumstances. Sometimes the person at the end of your thread is just _wrong_.”

    Peter was baffled. “But they’re literally tied to you,” he argued. “They’re supposed to be everything you need –”

    “Spidey, Spidey.” Deadpool shook his head. “You really _are_ a sweet summer child, aren’t you? There are some _bad_ people in the world, people worse than me. I mean, how do they fit into your little spiel? Do they just get put with other assholes?”

    Peter frowned. “I don’t… I’ve never thought about it,” he admitted.

    “Well then, let me be the one to open your eyes to the truth, baby boy. Sometimes, bad guys get paired with the innocents. Now sometimes, those bad guys realize they shouldn’t touch that pretty little perfect thing that some stupid piece of red shit says is theirs, and they run. Those are the slightly better bad guys, in all their varying shades of grey.

    “Some will hang around to make sure their fated is safe,” Deadpool continued, licking the sauce from his gloved fingers. “Some make a point to rough up the people who _dare_ touch what’s theirs. Others will just get the heck outta dodge.”

    “If those are the _good_ bad guys,” Peter said, a little hesitant, “what do the _bad_ bad guys do?”

    Deadpool paused, sending him a look. “What do you think they do, baby boy? They _take_.”

    Peter pursed his lips, looking away from Deadpool to stare out at the city. Things like that hadn’t actually occurred to him. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that some people _weren’t_ happy with the person on the other end. But it made sense - not everyone got a happily ever after.

    He pretended not to notice the way Deadpool seemed to be glaring at Peter’s gloved hands like they’d personally offended him.

    “Why don’t they tell people?” he finally asked.

    Deadpool shrugged, the movement rolling through the entirety of his body. “You know how much money they make off of those glasses that supposedly make you able to see your thread? Not to mention those so-called _experts_ who help you find your fated. It’s not good business if all of a sudden people start realizing they can be happy with whoever the fuck they want.”

    Peter finished his burrito. “How many of those kinds of people have you killed?” he asked. Deadpool jumped, apparently not expecting the question. He turned to stare at Peter, mouth hanging open.

    “Huh?”

    “The ones who take,” Peter elaborated. “Is that how you know? Because you kill them, I mean.”

    Deadpool rolled his mask down, hiding his mouth. “You really want me to answer that, baby boy?” he asked, his tone deadly serious. Peter hesitated before nodding once. “I don’t _kill_ them,” Deadpool said. “I make them _suffer_.”

    Peter didn’t get a chance to say anything in reply before Deadpool jumped off the roof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta da! New chapter! Obligatory fight with a villain and then tacos.
> 
> Next chapter is where all the plot stuff happens!


	3. Surprises

    Peter rang the doorbell to the intimidating mansion, sliding his feet properly into his shoes and smoothing his tie. His hair, he already know, was a lost cause – he was just lucky he wasn’t sweaty and disgusting from swinging around as Spiderman. Although he _did_ feel distinctly out of place in a suit, considering his wardrobe mostly consisted of jeans and hoodies.

    Peter almost jumped when the door opened, revealing a beautiful young woman with red hair and sharp green eyes. The sound of a party wafted out onto the street as the familiar face of Mary Jane Watson beamed up at him.

    “You made it!” MJ exclaimed, practically flying into Peter’s arms.

    Peter laughed, hugging her back. “Of course I made it,” he said. “I’m not going to miss my best friend’s birthday!”

    She gave him a look. “How close were you to being late?”

    He winced. “Sorry, I can’t answer that.”

    MJ laughed, catching his wrist and dragging him inside, passing several intimidating bodyguards. “At least you’re here,” she said. “How have you been?” she continued, leading him through the halls, past half-remembered portraits of people with stern faces and dark eyes. “Harry and I have some amazing news.”

    “Other than the fact Harry has successfully made it through another year of running Oscorp?” Peter asked jokingly.

    MJ smacked his shoulder affectionately, laughing when he pretended to wince. “That’s not a nice thing to say, Mr Parker.”

    “Mary Jane, what riff-raff have you dragged in from the street?” a snobbish voice demanded.

    Peter rolled his eyes, grinning at his best friend. “Nice to see you too, Harry.”

    Harry pulled him into a brief but sincere hug. “Glad you could make it.” Harry pulled away, looking at Peter’s suit critically. “Where on earth did you get that thing?”

    Peter shrugged. “It’s been sitting in my wardrobe for ages,” he replied. “I was amazed it still fits – I can’t remember the last time I would have worn a suit.”

    _That_ was a blatant lie, and the three of them went silent. The last time Peter would have worn a suit would have been at Gwen’s funeral, and all of them knew it, because they were there together. Peter and MJ had even gone to Harry’s father’s funeral afterwards, despite the fact that _he_ was the one to kill Gwen.

    Peter cleared his throat. “Nice party,” he said, gesturing to the flashing lights and the crowd of moving bodies he can see outside. One of the perks of having a mansion, Peter supposed, was the distinct _lack_ of potential to run out of room. And being rich, Harry had probably bribed all the necessary authorities so that even if they _did_ get a noise complaint, nothing was going to happen.

    “You think?” Harry asked.

    “You know me,” Peter replied. “I’m more of a ‘silence in the library’ kind of guy. I only come to parties when you or MJ force me.”

    MJ raised an eyebrow. “No one _forced_ you to this one,” she pointed out.

    “This is obviously the exception to that rule,” Peter said. He added hastily, “This and of course _your_ birthday, MJ,” when his friend gave him the stink eye.

    Harry shook his head, clapping Peter on the back that would have sent him sprawling pre-Spiderman. “Let’s get a drink. I’ll introduce you to some people.”

    Peter barely smothered his groan, but dutifully followed Harry down to the bar. The two of them ordered their drinks – a glass of scotch for both of them – and then walked bravely into the swaying ocean of people Harry apparently considered his ‘friends’.

    Peter would give anything – including his glass of scotch, as nice as it was – to sneak back inside and hide out until everyone he didn’t know left. Which, admittedly, would be about 95% of the current mix. But this was Harry’s party, and if Harry wanted him to talk and play nice with some random people he would have been happy to never meet, well.

    He would do it, but there was nothing in the rules of friendship that said he had to do it happily.

    An hour after Peter arrived, he had made the rounds, talking to almost every person Harry pointed out and several who he hadn’t. Several of these people had set off his spider sense, and he’d made sure to point them out as subtly as possible to MJ when he got a chance.

    Harry stood up, waving a hand to get everyone’s attention. He immediately had the party, the music lowered so that he could be heard. Someone even offered him a microphone, which he took with a smile of thanks.

    “Thank you all for coming,” Harry began, grinning when several people cheered. Peter smiled, leaning against one of the columns supporting the balcony above him. “I appreciate the fact that you all made the time, even if we are only celebrating another year of me running Oscorp!”

    Peter sighed. Why was it that when he made that joke, it was ‘not a nice thing to say’, but when Harry made it… The room erupted into laughter?

    “Money,” he muttered to himself, taking another sip from his scotch.

    “I’d like to make an announcement,” Harry continued when the laughter died down. “It is with a great sense of pride that I would like to inform you all that I have asked my girlfriend of five years to become my wife.” Peter choked on his alcohol. “And she did me the honour of saying yes.”

    Peter was still drowning in his alcohol, but he applauded along with everyone else. He was happy for them, he was, but there was a warning tingling down his spine. Peter swallowed, eyes tracking wildly around the assembled crowd.

    Happy, clapping, nice dress, gun, clapping, smiling – wait, _gun_?

    Peter reacted entirely on instinct – he rolled up his sleeve to expose his wrist, took aim, and fired a glob of web at the gun toting woman. The web shot through the crowd, landing against the woman’s wrist like it had been guided there.

    The gun went off, but thankfully, it was pointed towards the ground. People screamed and leapt out of the way. Peter left his glass on the nearest table and immediately found his way to Harry’s side.

    “What happened?” Harry asked, sounding a little wild.

    Peter shook his head. “I have no idea,” he said. “But keep calm, yeah? Where’s MJ?”

    “Harry!” MJ called, racing across the lawn. “Harry, are you alright?”

    They met in the middle, both of them spewing “are you okay?” and “are you hurt?” at each other. Peter watched for a moment before another tingle whispered up his spine. He tensed, eye flicking towards the woman he’d webbed.

    She’d gotten her hand free, but was fumbling with the gun like she’d never used one before. Peter followed her line of sight – she was staring directly at Harry and MJ.

    “Harry!” he shouted. “Gun!”

    Harry reacted immediately, pressing the panic button on his watch and placing himself in front of MJ. “What do you want?”

    The woman laughed hysterically. “I want _you_!” she screamed. “You were supposed to love _me_! Your thread was supposed to be attached to mine!”

    Something about the way she was screaming made Peter think of Deadpool. _“The mind is a powerful weapon”_ he’d said, but there was something _off_ about this. Peter’s instincts were going haywire.

    “I did what they told me to,” the woman continued, waving the gun around. Peter felt his eyes narrow as he carefully moved around behind the woman. “I did _everything_ they told me I had to do to become your fated, and _nothing_!”

    The last word was a screech that made Peter wince and cover his ears – enhanced hearing wasn’t great in all aspects. He kept his eyes on the woman, though, and watched her lips move as she kept talking.

    Peter was hoping that he’d be able to manoeuvre behind the woman, smack her hard enough to knock her out – probably while apologising, because you weren’t _supposed_ to hit women, but Peter was willing to make an exception this one time because _hello_ , gun – and then hopefully have the woman arrested and maybe even find out what the hell she was talking about.

    Admittedly, Peter wasn’t the best at plans. He was more of a ‘oh-shit-that’s-a-bullet-better-duck-and-what-is-my-leg-doing-kicking-there- _ouch_ -that-probably-hurt-a-lot-hey-it’s-over’ kind of guy. So when the woman _somehow_ noticed him trying to sneak around her, she turned the gun on him. Peter was mostly unsurprised.

    What _did_ surprise him was that he could see the thin red thread tangled around her left pinkie, trailing over the ground. Peter followed it with his eyes, baffled – he’d _never_ been able to see the threads, not even when he was a child – and his mouth actually fell open when he got to the end of it.

    It was indeed wrapped around Harry – however, her thread was coiled around his ankle like a shackle, twitching like it was _alive_ and trying to crawl up Harry’s leg. Peter couldn’t tear his eyes away from the thread, mouth open in horror.

    The next thing that surprised him was the gunshot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would say I'm sorry about the recent spat of cliffhangers that I've been leaving you guys lately... But I'm really not ;)
> 
> Somebody ordered plot? I delivered.
> 
> (Some clarification: I tweaked canon just a little, so Norman's the one who kills Gwen, not Harry. Harry doesn't know Peter's Spiderman, but MJ does. Also, Harry and MJ can see each others threads but no one else's. That actually happens a lot when two fated get together. I think mostly everything else is explained in this chapter or later.)
> 
> Comments are always appreciated! I'll answer any questions I can :D


	4. Besties

    “Spidey!” Deadpool called, jumping easily onto the rooftop Peter was currently seated on. “How are you, baby boy?”

    Peter shrugged, not really in the mood for idle chatter. His shoulder was aching from the bullet he hadn’t managed to dodge at Harry’s party, and he’d spent most of his evening patrol stopping the criminals he’d found too quickly to really enjoy himself. Most of the criminals he’d caught had been unconscious before they’d heard him, because fighting wasn’t that great of an idea when he had a bullet wound.

    He’d learned that the hard way. Also the really stupid way. Who had thought it was a good idea to fight with a healing bullet wound in his side? That’s right, Peter Parker.

    “Fine,” he replied shortly.

    Deadpool paused, apparently noticing the tone. “I know,” he whispered. “I didn’t believe him either. You okay, baby boy?” he asked, moving to sit beside Peter. “And if you say fine, I get to poke you in the ribs.”

    Peter narrowed his eyes. “Is this some sort of test to find out if I’m ticklish?” he demanded.

    “ _How did he know_?” Deadpool whispered to himself. “No, but seriously. Mostly seriously anyway. I mean, we can be jokey serious, which is actually sort of fun, especially when you do it with people who don’t know you well enough to tell that you’re _being_ jokey serious –”

    “Can you see people’s threads?” Peter asked, interrupting the mercenary before he could _really_ get started.

    Deadpool hummed. “I’ve seen a few in my time,” he said. He hadn’t exactly answered Peter’s question the way Peter had wanted, but he could work with the answer he’d gotten.

    “What did they look like?” At Deadpool’s look, Peter hastened to elaborate. “I _know_ they’re red. I know they’re on your pinkie – either one, there’s no real correlation between which hand is dominant and which has your thread – I know they have no particular length, I know you can’t actually _touch_ them… But what do they _look_ like?”

    Something in his rant must have made sense, because Deadpool hummed thoughtfully. “Well, they’re actually sort of pretty, you know? Of all the chains we could have been wearing, I mean. Really red, redder than fresh blood. And they sort of… Not _move_ exactly, but drift? Like leaves in the wind, or some romantic crap like that.”

    “So they don’t move like snakes, right?” Peter asked. He was pretty sure he already knew the answer to that one, but it didn’t hurt to make sure.

    Deadpool looked at him like he was crazy. “Have you _ever_ seen a thread?” he demanded. “Because your questions are making me think _no_. And that’s insane – surely you’ve seen _one_!”

    Peter wanted to snap something along the lines _“Gee, thanks for hitting me right where my insecurities are, I really appreciate it”_. Instead, he said, “The first one I’ve ever seen in my life was wrapped around my friend’s ankle, trying to crawl up his leg. And that was two days ago.”

    “Say what now? The threads don’t crawl!”

    “I _got_ that from your explanation,” Peter replied tightly. “But I know what I saw.”

    Deadpool nudged Peter with his shoulder. “Hey, I’m not doubting you, Spidey. It’s just that’s not something I’ve ever seen a thread _do_.”

    “I didn’t think it was normal,” Peter muttered. “But it was even weirder because she kept going on about how she’d done what they said.”

    “Done what who said? To what?” Deadpool tilted his head to the side, like a quizzical puppy. Even with the deadly weapons attached to his person, he somehow managed to look almost – dare he say it – _cute_. In a very big, very muscular way.

    Peter shook his head, ridding his mind of such odd thoughts. “She wanted to be Ha – my friend’s fated,” he corrected himself hastily. “I don’t _know_ who she was talking about, but I know what I saw. And I saw her thread, trying to get to my friend’s pinkie.”

    Deadpool held up his hands. “I said I’m not doubting you, Spidey. But I don’t know. That shit I was talking about last time? That was all… Unconscious, you know. There’s no way I know of to consciously control the threads.”

    “But what happens if someone _has_ found a way?” Peter asked, reaching to tug on his hair before remembering he had his mask on. He tugged at the bottom of his mask instead. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

    “Why not?”

    Peter made a frustrated noise. “Because it’s not right!”

    Deadpool nodded his head. “I get that, and I agree. But what’s it got to do with you? Unless… Yeah, no, actually I can see that happening. Oh baby boy, you _are_ in trouble.”

    Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

    “Well, who doesn’t want to be find out that the person attached to the end of their thread is Spiderman?” the mercenary pointed out.

    “I’m not Spiderman all the time, Deadpool,” Peter sighed. “It’s not Spiderman I’m worried about, anyway. It’s the people who _don’t know_.”

    “Wait, so if you’re _not_ worried because there are going to be enough threads coiling around your ankles to drag you down to hell – and they would need _a lot_ of threads, let me tell you,” Deadpool said, sounding puzzled, “ _why_ does it matter?”

    “Because there are going to be people out there who get _forced_ into being someone else’s fated!” Peter exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “That’s just… It’s _wrong_! And the worst part is, they’ll probably never know.”

    Deadpool muttered something under his breath that Peter didn’t quite catch. “Okay,” Deadpool said, almost sounding frustrated. “So what are we going to do about it?”

    Peter blinked. “We?” he repeated.

    “C’mon, Spidey! I’m not gonna abandon you in your time of need.”

    “My time of need?” Wow, he was really starting to sound like a broken record.

    Deadpool bounced impatiently. “Do you have _any_ ideas about where to start looking? Because I’m getting the feeling this might be your first rodeo, and I’m usually right about these things. Me? I _own_ that shit. I mean, sure, I’m aces at the unaliving business, but I sort of have to _find_ the people I need to unalive. Ya dig?”

    “I – uh.” Peter scratched his head. “I hadn’t thought about it?”

    Because where _was_ he supposed to start? He’d just decided he wouldn’t let this slide by him. It was an accident he’d found out, pure luck, and so he was going to everything in his power to stop it. Only he had no idea where to start.

    “Where would you start?” Peter asked.

    “With the woman.”

    “She’s dead,” Peter replied shortly. “Bullet to the head. Fired at the same time as the one that got me.” He rubbed his shoulder again.

    Deadpool glanced at him, and even with the mask Peter could see his expression was incredulous. “You got shot? And you’re still patrolling? What is _wrong_ with you? Do you have no sense of self-preservation?”

    Peter snorted. “That’s rich,” he said, eyeing the mercenary meaningfully.

    “ _I_ have an awesome healing factor, baby boy.”

    “I have a healing factor too.”

    Deadpool snorted. “But yours sucks _balls_.”

    With an offended noise, Peter crossed his arms, trying to ignore the answering twinge of pain from his shoulder.

    “Case in point,” Deadpool added, waving at Peter’s shoulder. “I’d heal from a bullet wound in maybe… Thirty seconds? Depending on where I get shot – getting shot in the head takes _hours_ to heal from. But through the shoulder? How long are you going to be toting around that 40% shoulder?”

    Peter narrowed his eyes. “I should be mostly healed in a few days,” he replied.

    Deadpool made a soft noise. “Oh you poor baby,” he whispered. He cocked his head to one side. “Yeah, I was just thinking that… What do you mean? I think that’s a horrible idea… Well, you smell!... I don’t care, you still smell.”

    “So if the woman’s dead, how do we start?” Peter asked.

    “First off,” Deadpool said, “we’re going to wait for your shoulder to heal. We need to be at optimum fighting capacity. Where there are bad things being done, there are bad people who need to be stopped. I prefer a more permanent method than you, Spidey… Buuuut just this once, I’ll try it your way.”

    Peter felt his mouth fall open. “You – you’re not going to kill people?”

    “Not unless they really, really deserve it,” Deadpool replied. “And that’s on my scale, not yours! Is there even anyone bad enough in the world for you to just think ‘nope, he’s dead’? Actually, don’t answer that. I’m sure the answer will be _no_ and that’s just _boring_. But also expected.”

    Peter swallowed. “I don’t – _thank you_ ,” he said.

    “No sweat, baby boy,” the mercenary replied cheerfully. “Well, maybe a little sweat. Also blood. But for the duration of our team up, I promise I won’t unalive people.”

    “Unless they really, really deserve it,” Peter repeated, privately promising to do his very best to keep Deadpool from killing anyone.

    “Right! And since we’re besties now,” Deadpool continued, grinning, “you have to call me Wade.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, new chapter! Things will be getting pretty exciting soon, and the threads will start to play a bigger role. Stay tuned for more, and hopefully you like what I have planned :D
> 
> Don't forget to comment!


	5. Aunt May

    “So you’re friends with Harry Osborn?” Deadpool – sorry, _Wade_ – asked. He whistled. “Now that I know that, I think I’ll turn down those offers for his head on a platter.”

    Peter jerked around. “People are trying to kill him?” he demanded.

    Wade waved a hand. “Always, baby boy. He’s a rich man with lots of money and his own business. He’s an easy target for most people – a child playing grown up.” Wade hummed thoughtfully. “But he’s doing a hell of a job. Props to him.”

    “Well, now you know his friend is Spiderman,” Peter muttered, flicking through guest photos. He’d gone to MJ as Peter, asking for the guest list, saying he’d hand it over to the proper authorities for him. MJ had been grateful, although she _had_ sent him a warning look.

    “So what happens if the woman wasn’t on the guest list?” Wade asked.

    Peter shook his head. “Security was pretty tight. I can’t imagine anyone sneaking in.” He flicked through some more photos, muttering in annoyance when his fingers stuck to a few.

    “Woah,” Wade said. “You literally have sticky fingers. That’s so cool!”

    “It can get a bit annoying,” Peter admitted. “There was this incident on the train…”

    Wade bounced forward, discarding the list. “Oh, tell me, tell me!”

    Peter felt himself blush beneath the mask. “I don’t think so, Wade. I get to keep some secrets. You should focus on this.”

    “But it’s boring,” Wade whined. “I mean, my attention span is mostly short, you know.”

    Peter made a triumphant noise. “I found her! Liz Adams.”

    “Good work, baby boy,” Wade chirped. “Now it’s my turn.”

    “What are you going to do?” Peter asked.

    Wade hummed. “Well, I’m going to dig up every bit of dirt I can find on Miss Adams. By the time I’m finished, your shoulder should be completely healed. So we can get on to the physical side of things.” Peter _knew_ Wade winked, even if he couldn’t see it. “So we can meet at my apartment, if you want? I’ll give you the address!”

    Peter blinked. “You don’t mind me knowing where you live?” he asked hesitantly.

    “Look, Spidey, I get you need to keep your identity secret. The mystery is totally hot. Not that I think you’d be bad looking underneath that mask – _that_ ass – but it’s still hot. I get to imagine all kinds of faces on your body.”

    “I – I honestly don’t know how to respond to that,” Peter replied, tilting his head.

    “I once imagined Bea Arthur’s head on your body. It was an experience.”

    “Now I’m concerned,” Peter said.

    Wade giggled. “The point, baby boy, is that if I know where you live, I could find out who you are. So we can’t meet at your place. And the roof of a random building, while _totally_ romantic, is sort of public. So my place it is! Plus, you’re like, the best hero I know. You won’t tell anyone.”

    “No,” Peter agreed. “I won’t.”

    Wade plucked the photo from his fingers, dropping a piece of paper into Peter’s hand at the same time. “So I’ll see you,” he said, skipping over to the edge of the roof, “in a few days.” He paused at the edge, cocking his head to one side. “And don’t you bother coming before your shoulder is _completely_ healed, Spidey. I will send you packing.”

    Peter grinned. “Yes sir,” he said.

    Wade wrinkled his nose. “Ew,” he replied, and then he stepped off the roof.

 

* * *

* * *

  

    “Peter!” Aunt May exclaimed. “What a lovely surprise!”

    Peter smiled and wrapped his arms around his aunt’s shoulders, inhaling the familiar scent of her lavender perfume. “Hello Aunt May,” he said. They disengaged, and Peter offered her a box. “It’s that cake you love,” he explained.

    His aunt’s eyes lit up. “How thoughtful. We can have this with some tea.”

    Peter was ushered inside, the door closing with a familiar thud that immediately made him feel at home. Aunt May bustled past him, navigating the route to the kitchen that Peter himself had taken many times.

    “Don’t forget to hang your coat up at the door,” Aunt May called, and Peter obligingly removed his coat and scarf, hanging them neatly on the hooks by the front door. He wandered down to the kitchen. “So what have you been up to?”

    Peter took a seat at the kitchen table. “I went to Harry’s birthday earlier in the week,” he replied, accepting the cup of tea offered to him with a smile. “He and MJ are engaged now.”

    “Oh, that’s wonderful news,” Aunt May said, taking a seat across from him. “I’ve been so worried about that poor boy – he’s had such a hard time of it lately. Did you hear about the trouble with that woman?”

    Peter took a sip of his tea. “Which woman?”

    “An ex of his. He had to file a restraining order against her.” Aunt May shook her head. “She was adamant that he was her fated. Poor girl.”

    Peter glanced at her sharply. “Liz Adams?” he asked.

    “Yes, that’s the one! I feel dreadfully sorry for her fated, whoever they may be. It will be hard to win that one’s attention.”

    Somehow, Harry had done it. He’d managed to hide the fact that a murder had occurred at his own private party. Peter was once again astounded at the power of money.

    “Is something the matter, Peter?” Aunt May looked concerned.

    “She’s dead, Aunt May,” Peter replied. There was no point in hiding it from her – it sounded as though she and MJ had been catching up, so it was entirely possible Aunt May would hear it from her. He wasn’t sure there was another explanation for how his aunt had known about the restraining order. “She was killed at Harry’s party.”

    Aunt May made a horrified noise. “That’s horrible, Peter! What happened?”

    As he relayed the particulars – “No one’s entirely sure what happened” and “I’m sure Harry had a good reason for keeping it a secret” – Peter wondered what Wade had found already. The man struck him as being oddly thorough, even if he was a bit scatterbrained.

    “Anything else you need to tell me, Peter?” Aunt May asked.

    Peter glanced up, caught off guard by the shrewd look in her eyes. The last time she’d looked at him like that, he’d been worrying about how to tell her he was bisexual.

    “Um,” he replied. “No?”

    “So no one new in your life?” she asked.

    Peter blinked. “Er. Yes?” When her eyes lit up, he hurried to correct himself. “Not like you’re thinking, though! He’s just… A friend.”

    “Does this friend have a name?”

    “Wade. His name is Wade.”

    She smiled. “How did you two meet?”

    Peter hesitated. “Through… work?” He cursed himself for sounding so unsure. That was bound to raise more red flags than anything else.

    Aunt May raised a single eyebrow. “Work?” she repeated.

    Peter offered her a completely unbelievable smile. “Yes,” he replied, crossing his fingers under the table.

    His aunt hummed thoughtfully, looking at him with sharp blue eyes. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re lying to me, Peter,” she said.

    Peter winced. “I’m sorry. I can’t actually remember where we met – it kind of feels like I’ve known him for longer than I have.” For a second, Aunt May’s eyes flickered down to Peter’s pinkie, and then to her own. “It’s not like _that_ , Aunt May.”

    Aunt May smiled at him. “Of course not. Are you staying for dinner tonight?”

    Peter felt himself relax, and smiled back at her, grateful she’d let it drop. “I can stay for dinner, Aunt May.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, long time no update! Have some Aunt May!
> 
> Updates will be significantly slower because of RL, things are happening and it's exciting :D Unfortunately, I might not have as much time as I usually do for writing these fics, but hopefully it won't be too long before you have an update!
> 
> As always, comment and let me know what you think - I always love hearing from you all <3


	6. MJ's The Bad Guy?

    Peter knocked hesitantly on the window to what he hoped was Wade’s apartment. His shoulder had felt normal this morning when he’d woken up, and he’d spent most of the day stretching and testing his shoulder. Everything seemed fine, so he’d pulled out the address Wade had left with him.

    “Um,” he called. “Wade?”

    The silence he’s heard coming from the apartment was shattered by what sounded like someone tripping over a table. “ _Fuck_ ,” he heard Wade swear.

    “I’m sorry,” Peter said.

    “No sweat, baby boy,” Wade replied cheerfully. “Just wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

    Peter frowned. “It’s been almost a week, Wade.”

    Another beat of silence. “ _Fuck_. _Nuggets_ ,” Wade hissed.

    “Should I come back later?” Peter wondered.

    “No!” Wade shouted. “Fuck no, Spidey, don’t run away! We’re in for some quality bro time, although that’s _totally_ not what the readers want, but whatevs! Their pervy little minds will be satisfied, I’m sure.”

    “Um.”

    “I’m almost there, just got a lot of junk – _mother_ _hubber_ – piling up and – _shit fucking blue balls_ – the lights aren’t working right – _take that you sack of shit!_ – now. But it’s all good,” Wade said, finally throwing the window opened. He peered down at Peter. “Sticky fingers really come in handy, hey?”

    Peter cocked an eyebrow, tilting his head. “Always,” he said, waiting for Wade to pull back before climbing in through the window. He surveyed the room quickly. “Messy,” he added.

    “I prefer ‘organised chaos’,” Wade replied. “I’m the only one who has to know where everything is, after all.”

    “Do you know where everything is?” Peter asked doubtfully. It seemed like there were a few boxes with assorted weapons… But as far as he could see, there was no rhyme or reason to how the weapons were packed.

    Wait, was that a _grenade_ in the corner?

    “Mostly,” Wade replied easily, nudging a box of guns – Peter was no weapons expert, but they looked _nasty_ – with his foot. It bumped into another box, this one labelled “CAUTION: EXPLOSIVES”. The warning was written with what looked like red crayon.

    Peter resolved to stay as close to the window as possible.

    “I assume your shoulder’s all better, right?” Wade asked, disappearing deeper into the apartment.

    “Yes,” Peter replied.  He shifted nervously. “What did you find?”

    “Oh, lots,” Wade called. “But you gotta come in to find out what! Hey, shouldn’t this be the other way around? You convincing me to come into _your_ lair? You have a Spidercave, right? I wanna see!”

    Peter frowned. “I don’t know what constitutes a ‘Spidercave’,” he said, gingerly stepping further into Wade’s apartment, “but I assure you, I have an apartment. And that’s it.”

    “You _totally_ have a Spidercave! All the best heroes have caves – like Batman.”

    “Who?”

    Wade went silent for a second. “Riiiight. Wrong universe. My bad, Spidey. You coming?”

    “Slowly but surely,” Peter muttered. Wade snickered, and Peter shook his head at the ridiculous man. “When you say ‘lots’, what do you mean?”

    Wade popped his head out of the door, almost making Peter jump back in shock. “I mean I know where we have to go to get some answers,” the mercenary said, gesturing Peter into what appeared to have been a kitchen.

    The benches were littered with takeout containers. What Peter assumed was the stove was a blackened, ruined mess of twisted parts that made Peter think Wade had gone at it with his katanas. There were knives sticking out of the walls, odd coloured stains on the floor and what Peter suspected to be the remains of a chimichanga decaying in the corner.

    The table, thankfully, was mostly clean, and covered in papers that mostly looked to have been printed. There were several pieces, however, that were scrawled on with red and black crayon, although they mostly looked like drawings to Peter rather than useful notes.

    “Liz Adams, 24. Worked as a secretary for Oscorp Industries, which is where she met Mr Harry Osborn,” Wade said, and Peter marvelled at how serious the man sounded. “They proceeded to enter a relationship that lasted for 3 months and ended badly. Osborn filed for a restraining order against Adams.”

    Peter nodded. “I know most of that,” he said. “Harry and MJ – Mary Jane Watson – got together barely a month after that. MJ could see they were fated.”

    Wade hummed, finger tapping against one of his drawings. Peter realized with a start that the drawing depicted the two of them fighting a horde of enemies. Was Wade thinking they’d need to fight to solve this?

    “Adams contacted a company called ‘Fated For You’. The company claims to be able to predict bonds and even _encourage_ two fated meeting.” Wade grinned. “Thanks to my awe-inspiring information gathering skills, I got to read the fine print, which includes this little juicy bit of info: FFY has been in contact with several major companies – including Oscorp – trying to sell a new product that can apparently influence the threads.”

    Peter’s mouth fell open. “Are you joking?”

    Wade shook his head. “Completely serious, but most of the companies kicked FFY out before they could really start their sales pitch. They didn’t put much stock on what the representatives of FFY were saying, but one company took an invested interest.” Wade picked up a sheet of paper and handed it to him.

    “Sawyer United?” Peter asked, scanning the page. “Never heard of them.”

    “And you wouldn’t have,” Wade agreed, “because they don’t technically exist.”

    Peter glanced up. “They don’t exist?” he repeated.

    “No paper trails, no employees, no employers, no clients, the building that’s listed as their operating base is an abandoned factory that hasn’t been touched in four years,” Wade listed off. “The P.O box is real, though, and every day at four o’clock a man in a trench coat comes in and checks it. Always alone, and always when no one is around.”

    “Then how do you know?”

    Wade grinned. “I have friends in low places,” he replied. “Plus, I was watching the building. Not much I could see through my scope, unfortunately, but I know he’ll be there tomorrow.”

    Peter looked up at the mercenary. “How exactly does Liz Adams connect with Sawyer United?” he asked. “You said she went to FFY, but do you know what she was doing?”

    Wade blinked. “Of course I do!” he exclaimed. “Did I not just show off my mad skillz, Spidey? Hang on, let me just…” He reached around Peter, focused on the table, and Peter made himself keep still at the sudden proximity. Damn, Wade was really bad at the whole personal space thing, wasn’t he?

    “A-ha!” Wade crowed, pulling out another drawing. “So. Adams went to FFY, and she signed up for the testing stages of their new… Thing.” He made a motion with his fingers. “There are a couple of other names I could find, but as of now they’ve just signed up. FFY hasn’t started the trial with them yet.”

    “But Liz had,” Peter surmised.

    “Yep. Her trial started two years ago.”

    Peter’s eyes bugged. “ _Two years_? And she was the only one? That doesn’t make sense.”

    Wade looked puzzled. “I thought it was _weird_ , but I didn’t know it didn’t make sense. They offending your geek side, Spidey?”

    “Ok, timeline,” Peter said, snapping his fingers for a pen. He wasn’t surprised when a red crayon was placed into his outstretched hand. He bent over to scrawl on the paper. “Harry and Liz get together and break up,” he began, “and based on every study people have done on threads and fated, the best time to conduct any sort of fiddling with her thread would have been at the time of the break up.”

    Wade made an intrigued noise. “You been reading up on threads, Spidey?”

    Peter gave the mercenary a smirk. “You made it seem very interesting. Plus, I thought knowing a bit more than I did about threads would be beneficial.”

    “Adams didn’t contact FFY for at least a year,” Wade pointed out. “They couldn’t have started the trial when they didn’t know her.”

    Peter frowned. “The other names on the list,” he said. “Why did they get in contact with FFY?”

    “Same thing as Adams,” Wade replied. “The person they were convinced was their fated found their _actual_ fated. So many unlucky fuckers, Spidey. I could have told them free of charge who their fated was, but nooo. No one wants to ask Deadpool, no siree. They should though. Right, Yellow! All the threads! Running red across my sight 24 fucking 7.”

    Peter blinked. “You can see threads,” he said. “Everyone’s?”

    Wade froze. “I said that out loud?” he asked, voice tense. “I was joking, obviously.”

    Peter studied the mercenary silently for a moment. Wade’s hands twitched towards his empty holsters, and Peter decided it was probably best to let the subject drop.

    “Did they all contact FFY after a year?” he asked instead, glancing back at the mess of papers on the table. “And did they all contact FFY after Liz?”

    When Wade spoke again, his voice was rough and gravelly and sent a shiver up Peter’s spine. “Different times between the initial breakup and contacting FFY,” he said. “All after Adams.”

    “Okay,” Peter said, mind racing. “Who is the person who’s been on the list longest? After Liz, I mean.”

    Wade moved beside him, tapping a file that had been buried beneath the loose papers. “In here. Larry Knight, I think.”

    “May I?” Peter asked, hand hovering over the file. He chanced a look at Wade’s mask, finding it carefully blank.

    Wade removed his finger and stepped back. “Be my guest,” he practically growled.

    Peter took the file and opened it. Seven faces stared up at him – six alive. Peter took Liz’s information out of the file, and read through the rest. “You never said how you connected Sawyer United with Liz,” he noted absently.

    “Okay, well, when I said Sawyer United had no clients, I was stretching the truth. They have one.”

    “Liz,” Peter sighed.

    “Nope. Sawyer United’s one client is Mary-Jane Watson. She’s scheduled to meet with them tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy.... I need that gif of Mushu with the whole "I LIIIIIIVE!" thing going on. I am _so_ sorry!
> 
> Hope this chapter was okay, I was going to just have Hydra be the bad guy again but then I thought why not something else... So a completely new bad thing to focus your hate on.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	7. MJ's Not The Bad Guy

    Peter frowned. “MJ?” he repeated. “I don’t – _why_?”

    “That’s something you’ll have to ask her yourself,” Wade replied. “What with you two being best buds and all.”

    Peter grabbed another bit of paper, reading through it quickly. He tossed it aside and grabbed another, scowling beneath his mask. The tension in his shoulders eased when he found what he was looking for.

    “Spidey?” Wade asked.

    “It’s okay,” Peter muttered. “She’s not involved.”

    Wade tilted his head. “Dude, she’s plenty involved. Have you seen the comments? Everyone’s up in arms. Poor writer had no clue how to handle all the disbelief. It was fucking hilarious.”

    Peter had no idea what Wade was talking about – comments? Writer? – but he shook his head. “No, see. Look at the dates. FFY has only been around for three years, Sawyer United for about the same – MJ and Harry have been together for five.”

    “Huh,” Wade said. “Well, she could have been with another company that did the same thing?” When Peter lifted his head to glare at the mercenary, Wade shrugged. “Look, I’m usually much better at playing the devil’s advocate, but your ass is so fucking distracting I’m not at my best.”

    “Were there any other companies that did something similar around the time MJ announced she was bound to Harry?” Peter asked after taking a calming breath. The mercenary had asked a legitimate question, and Peter shouldn’t be getting angry at him for it.

    Why the hell would MJ be meeting up with these people? He’d have to call her and ask. As soon as possible.

    “No,” Wade admitted. He scratched his head. “I don’t get it.”

    Peter’s mouth kicked up at one side. “No crazy ideas?”

    “Fresh out,” Wade replied, a flash of amusement colouring his voice. “What about you? Any ideas why your friend would _coincidentally_ be meeting up with the same people who are responsible for your girl Liz’s death?”

    Peter frowned. “FFY wants to… create threads, right? They want to be able to give people the option of choosing their fated. Even if the person their client wants has already met their fated.” He read through the papers again. “Actually, I’d almost say they’re targeting people who want to be with someone who’s already with their fated.”

    Wade made an angry noise. “Home wreckers,” he growled. “Nasty people. You sure we can’t give them a little make-over?”

    Peter wasn’t entirely sure where Wade had pulled the knife from, but he frowned at it disapprovingly. “If by make-over you mean kill them, no. If by make-over you mean seriously maim them, no.”

    “You suck all the joy out of _everything_ ,” Wade whined. He flipped the knife a few times. “Okay. So why?”

    “Hmm?”

    “Why target people who are already with their fated? Because the people are desperate? Because they’re selfish?” Wade ticked off his fingers. “It seems to me it’d be a lot calmer if you went for people who had no idea who their fated was to begin with.”

    Peter hummed thoughtfully. Wade wasn’t wrong, per se. Pairing up people who hadn’t yet found the person at the end of their thread would be much faster, and potentially less messy. Once the two of them were bound together, there would be nothing to tear them apart…

    Unless they only knew how to _bind_ people together.

    “Oh,” Peter said, faintly. “I need to call MJ. Excuse me.”

    He stepped out of the room, ignoring Wade’s questions, and went straight to the window he’d come in through. He pulled himself up and out, heading for the roof. When he was there, he pulled out his phone and dialled MJ’s number.

    “Peter!” she greeted him when she picked up. “What a surprise. I thought you’d be busy all day today?”

    “MJ, don’t go to your meeting tomorrow,” Peter bit out, pacing urgently along the edge of the roof. Any other time, he’d be thrilled at the power in his veins, the balance that meant he could walk on a tight rope and have no fear of falling. Now, he was too caught up in the terror that gripped him, the fear clenching around his heart.

    He heard MJ pause. “I have lots of meetings tomorrow,” she replied. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

    He pinched the bridge of his nose. “The meeting with Sawyer United,” he clarified tersely.

    Silence. “How did you know about that? Harry doesn’t – I haven’t told _anyone_.”

    “Did they tell you not to tell?” he asked. He cut her off before she could reply. “Look, it doesn’t matter. MJ, you _can’t go_.” Wrong thing to say. The second the words were out of his mouth, he slapped a hand against his face. “Wait, MJ – ”

    “No,” she said sharply. “I don’t _obey_ you, I never have. It doesn’t matter who you are, we’re friends first and foremost. You don’t get to try and order me around.”

    “That’s not – MJ, they’re the reason Liz is dead.”

    MJ waited another beat, and the she swore. The woman had the mouth of a sailor. “That doesn’t give you the right to talk to me like that,” she said, but the anger had faded.

    Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “I know, and I’m sorry. It’s not – I’m not trying to _control_.” He made sure that his distaste was clear in his voice. “I would _never_ do that. Wade and I, we’ve uncovered something… Big. I don’t want – I don’t want Gwen to happen again.”

    Shit, he could feel himself losing it. He took a breath, fighting the tears in his eyes. “It’s no excuse, I know,” he continued, returning to his pacing. “But I can’t lose anyone else to something like this, MJ.”

    _Something I could have prevented,_ he thought with a stab of guilt.

    MJ’s voice was soft when she answered. “Peter, it’s been _years_. Gwen wasn’t your fault. She’d never blame you for what happened, and you shouldn’t either.”

    Peter rolled his shoulders. “You’re right. Gwen wouldn’t have blamed me.” He took a breath, calming himself. “Just – please, MJ, don’t meet with Sawyer United. I’ll explain everything when I see you. Tonight.”

    “You’ll be over for dinner?” she asked. It was late, almost dusk. Later than Peter had anticipated, anyway.

    “If I’m not, I’ll be there for dessert,” he replied.

    “Okay,” MJ said. She took a breath. “I’ll call and cancel my appointment when you come over, alright?”

    Peter sagged, relief flooding through him. “Yes. Thank you, MJ.”

    He hung up and tucked his phone back into the compartment in his suit. Peter breathed out a sigh, walking over to sit on the edge of the roof, feet dangling free. He rubbed at his face, feeling the coarse stubble littering his chin and cheeks. How long had it been since he’d shaved?

    “Before you go running off,” Wade said, making Peter jump back to his feet, automatically pulling his mask back down. He had no idea how long the mercenary had been standing behind him, arms folded across his chest. “Want to explain what that was all about?”

    “Oh,” Peter muttered. “Sorry. I just realized – FFY, their research. It’s entirely focused on creating threads. But they can’t make a bond without breaking the old one.”

    Any hostility in Wade’s posture melted away. “You think that’s why they’re going for the people who want people with fated already,” he surmised. “They’re going to try and break the threads.”

    “Yes,” Peter said. “I do.”

    “That’s nasty,” Wade said. He clapped his hands together. “Luckily, I know where we need to go. So what are you doing this weekend?”

    Peter felt his mouth kick up in a tired smile. The mercenary was just so… _Excited_. Like a child, always enthusiastic. “I don’t have any plans,” he replied.

    Wade made a sound of surprise. “What, no hot dates for Spiderman? What is the world coming to?”

    “No hot dates,” Peter confirmed.

    “ _Awesome_!” Wade exclaimed, clapping his hands again. “That means _I_ can ask you out, right?” When Peter cocked his head, Wade hurried to elaborate. “Not like a _date_ date, although I’m totally down for that if you are! I mean, like, date as in find-the-bad-guys-and-make-them-pay?”

    Peter shook his head, unable to stop himself from smiling. “I get it, Wade. Do you want me to meet you here again?”

    Wade nodded. “Can do, Spidey! I'll see you on the weekend!” Wade skipped back inside, and Peter swore he heard the mercenary giggle something that sounded like  _dressing for the occasion_. What had he gotten himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I was tempted by your responses to make MJ the bad guy... But no. Sorry to disappoint, but MJ is _definitely_ not the bad guy. Gal. Whatever.
> 
> Next chapter, _actual_ shit happens. There's a lot more thread stuff, so that's exciting.
> 
> Lemme know what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

    “Well,” Wade said, “this isn’t what I was expecting.”

    Peter had to agree. The room was large, circular, and completely red. Wade bounced inside, poking at the odd texture on the walls.

    “Wade, don’t touch,” Peter said warningly. He carefully stepped inside, feet sinking into the soft floor. “What is this?”

    Peter and Wade had met up early yesterday evening, and Peter had been relieved to announce that MJ had had no contact with Sawyer United _or_ FFY. Wade, in turn, had told him where they were headed.

    FFY owned a broad strip of warehouses – why was it always _warehouses_ – that was within walking distance of the P.O box. Wade had already checked out the abandoned factory registered to Sawyers United, and reported that it was, in fact, abandoned.

    So Peter and Wade – as Spiderman and Deadpool – had gone to do some recon. Generally, Peter wasn’t a recon kind of guy. His fights came at random intervals, his only warning his spider sense, and there often wasn’t time to prepare or plan. He _reacted_.

    Wade, on the other hand, _did_ do recon. In fact, it turned out Wade was really, really good at recon. While Peter had to fight to keep himself focused, Wade had settled in and remained so still and quiet that Peter almost thought he’d died. He had moved once in the seven hours they sat and studied the place, and that was to reach into one of his many pouches and pull out two crushed tacos. He offered one to Peter, and after he’d finished he reverted back to his silent, watchful state.

    Peter was bored within the first hour, fingers itching to _do_ something. But he hadn’t wanted to break Wade’s concentration, so he sat on his fingers – literally – and kept quiet. He had watched the people that went in and out, followed the patrols as well as he could from his position, and narrowed his eyes when three black vans pulled up.

    It was late when the vans appeared – or early, depending on how you looked at it. It was going on one in the morning when Peter had caught sight of the trio of vehicles, and Wade had tensed at his side.

    “That’s our ticket,” he had said, pushing himself to his feet. Without another word, Wade had then launched himself from the rooftop.

    Peter didn’t think he’d ever reacted so fast – he was at the edge of the roof, holding on even as he registered his other hand had automatically thrown a web out to Wade, catching the mercenary before he hit the ground. He had stared down at Wade, heart in his throat, and the mercenary shook a fist at him.

    “Dude!” Peter had heard Wade say. “You ruined my super awesome exit. I was gonna do the superhero landing and everything.”

    Relief had coursed through him, strong enough to make his hands shake. Fuck, it had almost been like Gwen all over again. Enough to remind him of it, anyway. It didn’t matter that Wade couldn’t stay dead – he could still _die_ , and Peter was sick of people dying on him.

    He had taken a breath, carefully extending his web until Wade was safe on the ground. And then he dropped down himself, all the while pretending he couldn’t hear the sick _crack_ that echoed in his memory.

    Wade had tilted his head, mask frowning. “You okay there, web-head?”

    “Fine,” Peter had replied. His voice, thankfully, had sounded normal. “How are we getting in?”

    “Well, the vans should distract anyone who’s hanging around, which will make it easy for us with our super stealth skills to get in without being seen,” Wade had said. “I need to get to the control room – there’s sure to be cameras, and I charge per minute. Once I’ve finished in there, we can sneak around to our hearts content.”

    Peter had frowned. “What do you think is in the vans?”

    Wade had waved a hand. “Probably not important. C’mon, I already figured out where the control room is!”

    After the trip to the control room – during which Peter learned Wade actually _didn’t_ know the meaning of the word stealth, because he hummed the Mission Impossible theme song _the entire way there_ – the two of them had ended up here. In the weird red room that was making his skin feel twitchy.

    “It’s so _squishy_ ,” Wade said, still poking the wall. “I mean, not a _nice_ squishy. It’s fucking weird, that’s what it is. Why are the walls all squishy, Spidey? Wait, I missed a golden opportunity reference wise, can I start over?”

    Peter strode over to the mercenary. “Wade, I said don’t touch.” Peter reached over and pulled Wade’s hand from the wall.

    Immediately, his spider sense shot off a warning, and the door they’d come in through – the only exit to the odd red room – slammed closed. Peter leaped towards it, only to listen in horror as several previously missed bolts slammed into place.

    “Initiating,” said a robotic voice. “Charging.”

    Peter backed up until he ran into Wade. “That sounds a little ominous,” Peter said nervously, peering around the room. He cocked his head, examining the walls.

    The squishy red material appeared to be… Opening? Almost like flowers, spreading their petals for the sun.

    “It kinda looks like pitcher plants,” Wade said. “A wall of pitcher plants.” He made a face. "Pitcher plants smell  _nasty_."

    “Charging complete,” the robotic voice said before Peter could reply, and then the room began to cough out red smoke.

    There wasn’t anywhere to go. All the walls, the ceiling, and the floor was emitting the smoke, so Peter took in a breath and held it, pulling Wade over to the door. The mercenary had copied him, holding his breath, and Peter had a wild moment to wonder exactly how long Wade could hold his breath before he realized they had bigger issues to deal with.

    Namely, how to get out.

    Peter didn’t think the gas was poisonous. His spider sense was quiet, the near-silent buzz that usually meant he had to keep an eye out, but that danger wasn’t imminent. Then again, he’d never been in a situation where is spider sense needed to react to poison, so how was he to know?

    God, he was getting light-headed. He couldn’t even tell if he was still hitting the door. He didn’t quite remember _starting_ to hit it, either. Peter glanced at Wade, and sucked in a desperate breath of surprise to find the mercenary already looking at him. The breath was unexpected, and he waited, somewhat anxiously, for something to happen. But other than tasting a bit like cherries, he could almost fool himself into thinking he was just breathing air.

    “Tastes like cherries,” he said to Wade, panting to get his breath back. Wade took in a cautious breath.

    “Huh,” he said. “Does too. What the fuck is this?”

    Peter shook his head. “No idea. Do any of your pouches have a container? Or a tube?”

    “Sorry,” Wade snorted, “I left all my test tubes at home. Why?”

    Peter waved at the smoke around them. “Sample,” he explained. “What do you think this is for?”

    Wade tilted his head. “Well, maybe this is their test? In one of their reports, they said they had a possible catalyst for creating new threads – whatever that means. But they were at the testing stage, apparently.”

    “Testing stage means they need _people_ ,” Peter said softly. His mind flashed back to the vans. “The vans,” he breathed, eyes widening. “ _Test subjects_ , Wade! We have to get out.”

    “Complete,” said the robotic voice, and the smoke abruptly began to recede. When the last of the smoke vanished, the door swung open. The hallway was empty, with a few open doors leading to several rooms.

    “Okay,” Wade said, hurrying after Peter, who was moving the second the door was. “So nothing happened with the smoke, right? That almost seems too good to be true, don’t you think? Writer’s getting lazy…”

    “It doesn’t matter,” Peter ground out. “The vans probably had the ‘test subjects’, Wade. There are people here that are going to be tested on.”

    Wade caught his arm. “Hang on, Spidey.”

    Peter wrenched his arm free. “If you try and talk me out of saving them, I’ll web you to the ceiling and go save them by myself,” he snapped. Damn, he really was still on edge after the reminder of Gwen’s death. He took a calming breath.

    “Listen up, web-head, because I’m only going to say this once.” There was steel in Wade’s voice, a dark anger that made a shiver go down Peter’s spine and his spider sense tingle in warning. “I’m the best looking protester against people being test subjects, and I don’t care what else you think of me, but I need you to understand that I will _never_ turn my back on someone who’s been tested on.”

    “Even if they signed up for it?” Peter asked quietly.

    Wade laughed, bitter. “I guess you don’t know as much about my awesome origin story as I thought. Baby boy, if they signed up for it and are happy to keep going, cool. I know when to back off.”

    “No you don’t,” Peter muttered.

    “In some situations no, I don’t,” Wade agreed readily. “But if someone signed up for some shit, didn’t realize what they were getting into and wanted out? I would help. For free even.”

    Peter took another breath. “Okay. Then why’d you stop me?”

    Wade laughed. “Spidey, web-head, baby boy.” He wrapped Peter’s hand in both of his and somehow managed to look _up_ at Peter, despite being significantly taller. “You’re going the wrong way.”

    “And how do you know that?” Peter demanded, refusing to admit he was blushing. He shook his hand free, the action almost an afterthought. Wade’s hands were _warm_. They felt nice.

    “Well, I took a little snoop around the control room, didn’t I? Found a handy little map of the entire place. If there _were_ people in those vans, they’ll be downstairs.” Wade jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “That-a-way.”

    Peter relaxed. “Lead the way,” he said to the mercenary.

    Wade bowed deeply, looking up at Peter with a visible grin. “As my princess commands.”

    Looking down at the mercenary, Peter noticed something moving from the corner of his eye. His head snapped around, and he felt as though ice was flooding through his veins at the sight that greeted him.

    “Wade,” Peter said, unable to keep the panicked note from his voice. “Wade, there’s a thread around my ankle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! New chapter :D Things are getting _exciting_.
> 
> Let me know what you think~


	9. Chapter 9

    Wade cursed. “Damn, I guess it really _was_ too good to be true.” He muttered something that could have been “Sorry for calling you lazy”, but Peter wasn’t really in the mood to listen to Wade’s ridiculousness.

    Peter glanced at the mercenary. He swallowed. Loudly. “Wade,” he whispered. “You have one around your ankle too.”

    The absolute silence in the hallway was deafening. Peter tried to keep breathing, eyes catching on the way the thread around Wade’s leather clad leg was already up to his knee. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his own.

    “Who the _fuck_ would want me?” Wade exploded, hopping about on one foot and shaking the other in the air. “Release me, you poor, misinformed _idiot_! I promise this is one decision you are going to regret _so much_ , and I am not paying for _any_ of the alcohol you’ll need when you find out _exactly_ who you’re trying to catch! And you’re not touching my guns either!”

    Peter was torn. On one hand, watching Wade hop around on one foot, waving the wrong leg in the air, and screaming at someone who probably couldn’t hear him was actually really amusing. On the other, the two of them _were_ currently in some sort of secret research facility, both with threads wrapped around their ankles (the one around Wade was wriggling up his thigh).

    So, laughing probably _wasn’t_ the best response. He hiccupped on a snicker before clapping a hand over his mouth.

    Wade paused. “Okay, Spidey?”

    “Wrong leg,” Peter said, choking a little on his laughter.

    “You serious?” Wade pouted. “That was exhausting. I don’t wanna do it again. 10/10 would not recommend. Where’s the thread at, Spidey?”

    “Hip,” Peter replied.

    “Where’s yours?”

    “I – I don’t want to look,” Peter admitted. He smiled, a little shaky, when the mercenary very obviously rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay,” he muttered, and looked down.

    The imposter red thread was coiling around his waist, and Peter made a sound of surprised shock, barely stopping his instinctive reaction to leap away. Without thinking, he followed the line of the thread – it was taut, like whoever was on the other end was trying to drag him towards them – and froze when his eyes landed on Wade’s finger.

    “Spidey?” Wade asked, concerned.

    “Gah,” Peter replied intelligently, eyes darting down to his own pinkie. He followed it with his eyes, face draining of any remaining colour when he found the end of his thread wriggling almost coyly up Wade’s chest. “ _Fuck_ ,” he breathed.

    Wade waved his hands. “Spidey, talk to me! What’s wrong? Have they gone? Did they go poof?”

    Peter shook his head. He opened his mouth to answer, but he caught the sound of footsteps approaching – damnit Wade! – and turned instead to yank Wade into closest room, and then into the only viable hiding spot in said room.

    The closet.

    For a single, heart-stopping second, Peter wasn’t sure the both of them would fit. The closet was small, and Wade was not a small person. With Peter added in, it was going to be one hell of a tight fit. Thankfully, Peter was very flexible and had sticking powers.

    He’d managed to put Wade deeper in the closet, but there really wasn’t all that much room. Peter was basically sitting in Wade’s lap, fingers sticking to the walls of the closet while he crouched on Wade’s knees.

    “Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve just done?” Wade hissed into his ear. His breath was hot and smelled like the tacos they’d eaten during recon.

    “Um,” Peter replied softly. “Saved your ass?”

    “You’ve just opened up a can of worms! Now the readers are going to expect _S. E. X_!”

    Peter blinked. How was he supposed to respond to _that_? “Then I guess they’re going to be disappointed,” he settled on. “Now shut up, please.”

    “Well, since you asked so nicely – _ow_!”

    With a smug smile, Peter twisted and pressed his ear to the door.

    “What happened?” a man demanded, voice full of bluster and importance that Peter automatically associated with Harry when he was at work. “I was in a very important meeting when the alarms started.”

    “It appears we have an intruder,” a woman replied coolly. “Someone broke into the Red Room. We’re still trying to figure out who and how – security cameras have been scrambled.”

    “You bet your ass they have been,” Wade muttered.

    Peter shushed him quietly, shifting to hold more of his weight with his arms. Wade made an offended noise and pulled Peter back down onto his lap.

    “Stay still,” Wade murmured. “Don’t want to get caught now.” His arm stayed locked around Peter’s waist. It felt nice. Peter sighed but settled, still listening in to conversation outside.

    “The Red Room?” the man asked. “Do you think… That formula is untested.”

    “Which is why we need to lockdown the facility and _find_ them,” the woman replied. “Whoever it was, they’re the first person to be exposed to the formula. We need to know if it works and to what extent. The data would be extremely beneficial, especially when added to the data we’ll get from the subjects downstairs.”

    Peter stiffened, forgetting all about the threads. So there _were_ subjects. And they were downstairs, just like Wade had said. Normally, Peter thought he’d probably be amazed that Wade had gotten so much right – but Wade had proven himself to be _extremely_ helpful when it counted. Which Peter was grateful for.

    The man sighed. “I suppose a lockdown is inevitable. Who else needs to be called in?”

    “The other members of the board are on their way. And I have teams sweeping the building as we speak.”

    “Let’s get out of their way then,” the man said.

    The two of them left, and Peter waited a few beats before he pushed open the closet door. He climbed down from Wade’s lap and paused in the middle of the room, listening to the footsteps fade. Wade skipped out after him.

    “Well,” Peter said.

    “This sounds fun,” Wade chirped. “Told you the people would be downstairs.”

    “No, I’m pretty sure this is bad, Wade,” Peter corrected. He crept over to the door and peeked out. “There’s no one coming,” he said. “We can’t _leave_ them down there.”

    “I regret saying this,” Wade said, “but I think we need a plan. A better plan than busting downstairs, anyway.” He made a frustrated noise. “I think I’m having a midlife crisis!”

    Peter rubbed his brow. He didn’t want to admit it, but Wade was right. Going in blind would likely end badly – _very_ badly. But he wanted to go anyway, wanted to save the people who were probably regretting their decision to sign up – _if_ they’d even signed up.

    “You’re right,” he finally said, unable to keep the note of defeat from his voice. “We should… leave. And come back.”

    “Tomorrow,” Wade said firmly. “We’ll get them out tomorrow.”

    Peter nodded. “Alright. So we’re getting out.”

    “The way we came in? Or should we make a new exit?”

    Wade sounded _way_ too cheerful about the second option, so Peter felt apprehensive as he turned to glance at the mercenary.

    “ _Where_ did you even pull that from?” Peter asked in disbelief, staring at what looked like a rocket launcher perched on Wade’s shoulder. “No,” he added, shaking his head at the bright grin beneath Wade’s mask. “No,” he said more firmly.

    Wade’s posture changed in a second. His shoulders drooped and he placed the rocket launcher on the ground beside him. “You’re no fun,” he muttered petulantly.

    Peter cocked an eyebrow. “We’re going out the way we came in. Come on, Wade.”

    It wasn’t until they were out that Peter and Wade remembered the threads. Well, _Wade_ remembered. Peter was still, up to that point, forgetting that he and the mercenary were _bound_ together.

    “Spidey, what’s the deal with the threads trying to get us?” he asked. “I can’t see ‘em.”

    Panicked, Peter looked down. Wade’s thread was coiling around his wrist, while the end of Peter’s thread had just reached Wade’s pinkie.

    “Spidey, talk to me! I don’t want no stranger being my fated! And there is _no one_ who’d want me as their fated, let me tell you. I fart _all the time_ , I make a mess, I’m a mercenary, in case you somehow missed the memo…”

    “I – we…” Peter shook his hand, knowing it wouldn’t do anything but needing to do _something_ anyway. Words were failing him – how was this _happening_?

    Peter took a breath, trying to calm down. There had to be a logical explanation. He closed his eyes, thinking. The smoke was the obvious cause, and Peter really wished he’d been able to get a sample. Maybe, because they’d been the only two in the room… It was a disgustingly simple explanation, but it was the only one Peter could think of.

    When Peter opened his eyes, Wade was starting to look legitimately freaked out. “Calm down, Spidey. Can you see who’s on the end? Can you see that far? How far can you see?”

    Peter shook his head. Wade’s thread had reached his pinkie, and Peter felt a phantom tug as the bond was completed. “I don’t need to look far,” he croaked. He reached out and grabbed Wade’s hand. “This is where my thread ends,” he said, and then held up his own hand, “and this is where yours ends.”

    Wade went still. “Bullshit,” he said, his voice dropping in pitch and taking on a gravely tone that Peter hadn’t heard since their first meeting. The growl in the hallway had been downright playful compared to this. “You shouldn’t lie, Spidey.”

    “I-I’m not,” Peter stammered, mostly paying attention to the soft warning of his spider sense racing up his spine. “I swear, Wade –”

    Wade moved, almost too fast for Peter to catch. Within a second the mercenary was behind him, one hand clamped over his mouth and the other hand coiled around his throat, big enough that the tips of Wade’s thumb and index fingers pressed into the skin behind Peter’s ears. Peter froze, spider senses shrieking loudly enough that he felt a migraine coming on.

    “Now, now,” Wade chirped, the hand around Peter’s throat squeezing warningly. “You and I both know that you would never want to be bonded to me, Spidey. Despite the _awesome_ fun we’ve had over these last couple of days, we’re still on opposite sides of the line here. So how’s about when I let go of your mouth, you tell me exactly what I want to hear.”

    Peter waited a few breathless seconds after Wade removed the hand over his mouth to speak. “I’m not going to lie to you,” Peter said carefully. The hand still around his throat flexed warningly. “Look, Wade, we’ve got to get out of here before they catch us. They said it was experimental – I’m no genius but I think I have an idea _why_  and _how_  this happened, so please, can you threaten me later? After we’re out of immediate danger?”

    Neither of them moved for a long moment, until finally Wade deflated, stepping away from Peter. Peter turned to stare at the mercenary, who was glaring at Peter’s pinkie with so much anger that Peter was definitely surprised his finger hadn’t caught fire yet.

    Peter took the opportunity to take a quick look at the thread that bound them together. From all that he’d read – and from what Wade had told him – Peter though that this new thread was thicker than normal. It also looked like it wouldn’t stretch very far, but Peter knew that the threads could be deceptive like that.

    Still, something seemed… Off. Peter narrowed his eyes, tilting his head as he examined the thread – it was really more of a thin rope, really – around his pinkie.

    “Meet you at my place,” Wade said gruffly, spinning and walking away. Peter could hear him muttering to himself, likely talking to the boxes.

    Peter watched the thread stretch and stretch, relaxing the further it stretched. When the mercenary was no longer in sight, Peter turned and took a running leap, webbing his way to Wade’s apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats, you smart cookies who predicted this outcome. This chapter clocks in at 2,000 words, which is a little bit longer than usual. Next chapter has already been written up, so you'll get that one next week sometime.
> 
> As always, let me know if you loved it, if you hated it, if you think this is going to be a cliche, anything. I love getting comments from you all <3
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


	10. Chapter 10

    It was awkward. Peter perched on the couch, watching Wade watching him. The thread between them flexed and pulled, sometimes tight enough that Peter physically tensed, as if the thread was about to pull him off the couch.

    Peter could tell Wade noticed, because Wade shifted every time, like he couldn’t decide whether to let Peter fall on him or move out of the way. But the thread never exerted any force, so Peter ended up relaxing until the thread did it again.

    “You said you had a theory,” Wade finally said gruffly. “Care to share with the class?”

    Peter jumped a little, somehow not expecting the break in silence. _Peter_ certainly hadn’t been willing to break it, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. Thankfully, Wade was just as bad with silence as Peter was. Worse, in fact.

    “Um. Right. Okay.” He shifted uneasily on the couch. “The only thing I can think of that makes sense is that this happened because we were both in the Red Room,” he explained quickly. “I don’t think it would have worked if there was only one person in there.”

    Wade frowned. “But they thought some _one_ broke in,” Wade pointed out. “Not some _ones_.”

    Peter nodded. “I think they have no idea how the Red Room works,” he explained. “It’s inevitable that they’ll stumble upon the answer, given the chance… But it’s just as likely that it _would_ work with one person. Bind them to the person they want the most. But because there were two, it just…” He gestured with his hands, hoping to get his point across.

    “It just slapped us together, right.” Wade paused. “Sorry,” he said abruptly.

    Peter blinked. “For what?” he asked, baffled.

    “For the, uh, throat thing.” Wade scratched the back of his head. “You – I know you wouldn’t lie about something like that. I just – you surprised me, is all.”

    “Oh,” Peter said. Yes, he was owed an apology for that. “Thank you for apologizing.”

    “And for forcing you to get bonded to… _this_ ,” Wade continued, waving a hand at himself.

    _That_ was wrong, Peter thought with a frown. “You didn’t force anything,” Peter pointed out, puzzled. “You’re not responsible for this. And you’re not all bad. You were a tremendous help today, and I know you’ll be a great help tomorrow as well.”

    Wade huffed. “Sure, Spidey.” He didn’t sound convinced. “This’ll probably be easier if you stay here,” Wade said. And then he seemed to realize what he’d said, because he immediately hurried on to say, “It’s cool if you don’t want to, I get that this isn’t exactly a five-star hotel suite and probably smells like ass.”

    Peter blinked. Wade made a good point – with the staying bit, not the rest. Although the apartment _did_ smell, it didn’t smell like ass – and Peter couldn’t really think of a reason to say no. “I’ll take the couch?” he offered.

    Wade jerked, like he hadn’t expected Peter to reply. “You – wait, you _want_ to stay?”

    “You’re right – it’s easier if I stay here.” Peter shrugged. “There’s a lot of ground to cover. And it’s late. And, I’m only just realizing, I’m _exhausted_. This has been a very stressful day. Not the team up part, no. I actually think that was the smoothest part of the entire time. Not that I _thought_ it was going to be hard – and I’ll shut up now. Sorry.”

    Wade stared at him. “Is this a hallucination?” he asked eventually. “I’ll admit the babbling is new. Cute, but new.”

    Peter tilted his head. “I don’t think so. I’m real enough. What do you usually do if you think you’re having a hallucination?”

    Wade barked out a surprised laugh. “Oh baby boy, you _do not_ want to know.” He jumped to his feet. “I have the perfect blanket for you!” he screeched, and darted off.

    Peter blinked after him. Maybe his healing factor gave him unlimited energy?

    Wade was back in record time, carrying three pillows, a black and red Deadpool eye mask, and a Hello Kitty blanket. He dropped them all on Peter, beaming like a kid who’d been promised ice cream.

    “I… Thanks?” Peter said somewhat helplessly from beneath the pile of bed things. He struggled out from under it all, stared at Wade. “I would have been fine with just a blanket,” he felt compelled to point out.

    Wade shook his finger at Peter. “Nu-uh. You are a guest, baby boy. You deserve the best treatment. Which is why, in the morning, I’m making waffles!”

    “Why am I Shrek in this situation?” Peter mumbled, pulling his mask up to his nose. Sleeping with the mask on was impossible. “Thank you, Wade.”

    Wade giggled. “He said our name! And anything for you, snookums. You have a good sleep, now.”

    Peter gave the mercenary a little wave before fixing himself up for the night. He drifted off to sleep easily, helped along by the mercenary singing Katy Perry in the next room.

 

* * *

 

    Peter woke up. Sort of. He was mostly asleep, dreams tugging on his mind and making his movements slow and uncoordinated. He pulled his mask off with a frown, eyes still closed. Peter hated sleeping in his mask. It made his hair go weird and made his skin feel dirty. Why was he sleeping in his mask?

    It was the same deal with his shirt. Peter grumbled as he lifted it over his head, jaw cracking in a huge yawn. He sat up, swaying gently from side to side. His eyes opened into slits, enough to see the barest hint of the room around him.

    Somewhere in the back of his mind, Peter realized he wasn’t in his apartment. This wasn’t his couch, he had his mask on for a reason… But Peter ignored it, because he had a very pressing need. For what, he couldn’t articulate, but he felt a gentle tug on his hand and moved to follow it.

    His eyes stayed mostly closed as he padded through the unfamiliar apartment, guided by the tugging. Peter made sure to take the blanket with him, because it was soft and warm and smelled nice.

    The door creaked open, and the next second there was a mattress underneath his hands. Peter sighed, content, burrowing into the warmth of another body. His nose pressed against a collarbone, and with a half-hearted grumble, Peter threw an arm across a broad chest.

    The body shifted, an arm sliding under his neck and pulling him closer. Peter nuzzled into the rough, warm skin, fingers splayed over ribs, feeling the expansion and contraction as his bed-mate breathed. After a minute of matching their breathing, Peter drifted back off to sleep.

 

* * *

  

    Peter’s phone was buzzing. It was still in the pocket of his pants, and he swatted at it sleepily. But the phone was insistent – just when Peter thought it had stopped and he could go back to sleep, it started up again.

    Peter groaned, reaching down to pull the phone from his pocket. He opened one eye enough to slide across the screen and answer. He put the phone to his ear, promptly closing his eye.

    “’ello?” he mumbled.

    “Peter?” Harry said. “Are you still asleep? It’s almost 1 o’clock! Don’t you have class today?”

    Peter grunted in reply. He did, actually, but he was too comfortable to be worried about it. Besides, he’d finished up the coursework he needed done earlier in the week. He wriggled closer to the warmth, sighing contentedly when gentle fingers carded through his hair.

    “Honestly, Parker,” Harry sighed. “What are we going to do with you?”

    “Let me sleep?” Peter suggested in a false, bright tone that didn’t suit his current state of awareness.

    Peter heard Harry sigh. “I actually called because I haven’t heard from MJ all morning. Have you?”

    “MJ’s not answering your calls?” Peter asked, stiffening. He definitely felt more awake now.

    “Look, I’m sure it’s nothing,” Harry said, but Peter sat up, wrenching his eyes open to interrupt his friend.

    “No, Harry, you don’t understand,” he began fiercely, but froze in shock when he registered what he was seeing. “I have to call you back,” Peter said faintly. “If you haven’t heard from me in half an hour, call me.”

    He hung up, blinking down at a half-naked Wade Wilson. “Um,” he said. “Hi?”

    Wade’s face flashed into a smile, but there was a sort of sad acceptance in his eyes. “Hey, baby boy. Would have put my mask on, to save you from this, but I couldn’t move without waking you up.” He shrugged, and for a moment Peter couldn’t work out what he was talking about. “Actually, I couldn’t move _at all_. Are you sure you weren’t bitten by an octopus?”

    And then it registered that Wade’s skin was _covered_ in scars.

    Peter knew Wade was scarred. He’d heard the tales, had even had the mercenary tell him himself on several occasions, making self-deprecating jokes about the state of his skin. But actually seeing them was different. They looked _sore_.

    A thought occurred to Peter that had him springing away from Wade, a horrified expression on his face. In his haste, he misjudged the distance from the edge of the bed and fell off, spilling onto the floor in a mess of limbs. He smacked his head against something hard, and it made him yelp in surprise.

    He heard Wade sigh. “Yeah, I thought that might be your reaction,” he muttered.

    Peter scrambled onto his knees. “Did I hurt you?” he demanded, which stopped Wade cold. “When I – when I was hugging you,” how he wished he could say that without blushing, “was I hurting your scars?”

    Wade blinked at him, blue eyes wide. “I told you,” he muttered. “Too pure for this world. He’s worried about _hurting_ me.”

    “Wade?”

    Wade smiled at him, wide and bright, and holy shit that expression was _beautiful_. “Don’t you worry your cute little nose, baby boy. You didn’t hurt me none.”

    At the mention of his nose, Peter realized that he wasn’t wearing his mask either. His hands flew to his face instinctively, even as he told himself it was a silly thing to do considering Wade had been looking at him for a good two minutes. A blush, usually hidden beneath his mask, spread along his cheeks and down his neck.

    “So _cute_ ,” Wade breathed, and the blush spread further. “Who would have thought Spidey was such a cutie? Other than me, I mean. Always knew you’d be pretty. Seriously, _look at you_. Jesus wept, baby boy.”

    “Please stop,” Peter blurted out. His blush was only getting darker, spreading further the longer Wade talked. “I don’t – I’m so sorry for barging in! I don’t understand _why_.”

    “If you wanted cuddle times, all you had to do was ask,” Wade said, smirking.

    Peter smothered his face with his hands. “Shut up,” he groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was reading a lot of Spideypool stuff when I wrote this, and I was getting really tired of the "big reveal" shebang. So much drama. So I decided mine would be relatively simple, and here you go.
> 
> Comments fuel me, but I also wanted to say I'm writing (and therefore updating) slower than usual because I have _so_ many shifts this month and I have no free time.


	11. Chapter 11

    “Who was on the phone?” Wade asked.

    Peter glanced up from where he was frowning at the blueprints Wade had managed to get of the facility. “Harry!” he exclaimed, digging his phone from his pants and dialling his friend’s number. He waited anxiously for him to pick up, fingers tapping against the table.

    “Peter?”

    “Harry,” Peter said, relieved. “You haven’t heard from MJ?”

    “No, she left to go to dinner with some friends last night,” Harry replied. “I’m sure everything’s –”

    “Everything’s not _fine_ , Harry,” Peter interrupted. “Spiderman and one of his friends found the people who killed Liz, and MJ was scheduled to have a meeting with them.”

    “The one you asked her to cancel?” Harry asked.

    Peter nodded, even though his friend couldn’t see. “And she did. Last night, I got a call from Spiderman, saying that he and his friend thought that they had taken hostages. You not hearing from her makes me think MJ might be one of them.”

    Harry breathed out slowly. “Shit, Peter. Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

    Peter felt his face heat up. “Uh, something came up. I couldn’t talk just then.”

    “Wake up to find someone in your bed instead of on your couch?” Harry teased, and Peter flushed a darker red.

    “Not the time, Harry,” Peter muttered, scowling.

    “You’re right.” Harry went quiet for a moment. “So Spiderman?”

    Peter nodded. “I don’t think the cops can handle these guys,” he explained. “I mean, they _killed_ Liz. At your party.”

    “And you think Spiderman can help?” Harry asked doubtfully.

    Peter ignored the irrational sting of hurt when he answered. “I think he can do a better job than the police with this. Besides, Spiderman can talk to other heroes – maybe they’ll know something.”

    Harry snorted. “I’m sure Spiderman has a direct line to Tony Stark,” he said sarcastically. “If MJ’s in trouble, how do you expect me to just sit here?”

    “I have faith that Spiderman will do whatever he needs to do to help whoever has been taken,” Peter said firmly. “I’ll call you with any updates, okay? Please, Harry… Don’t do anything rash?”

    “I’m insulted, Peter. I never do anything rash.” With that, Harry hung up, and Peter pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at the screen.

    “He’s going to do something rash,” Peter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

    “Oh, of course he will. We just gotta do something rash before him,” Wade said. “And rash is my middle name.”

    Peter cocked an eyebrow. “And here I thought your middle name was ‘pain in my ass’,” he replied dryly.

    Wade grinned. “I’d _love_ to be a pain in your ass, baby boy,” he practically purred.

    Peter blushed, trying to ignore the way his stomach trembled a little. “Focusing,” Peter muttered, indicating the blueprints.

    “One hundred percent,” Wade replied, voice low and serious. Peter glanced up at him to find Wade’s attention focused on _him_ , eyes sharp and filled with some heavy emotion that made Peter’s breath catch in his throat.

    He felt a tug on his hand, watched Wade take a step towards him. Peter held his breath, frozen on the spot as Wade moved around the table until they were standing chest to chest. Wade’s bare hand reached up, gentle fingers running along the edge of Peter’s jaw. Peter shivered, unconsciously shifting closer to the mercenary.

    “Am I dreaming?” Wade muttered, intense eyes studying Peter’s face.

    Peter swallowed. “No,” he said, blushing at how rough his voice sounded. “You’re not dreaming.”

    “That’s what you’d say if this was a dream,” Wade accused, but his fingers were running down Peter’s neck, tugging at the bits of hair that curled against Peter’s skin.

    Peter lifted his own hand tentatively, reaching up to twine his fingers with Wade’s. The mercenary stilled, eyes flicking to their joined hands before looking back at Peter’s face.

    “Not a dream,” Peter repeated, turning his face to nuzzle into their hands. “I promise, Wade.”

    “Then why…?” Wade’s fingers squeezed his, and Peter felt a rush of pleasure. “Something isn’t right,” Wade said abruptly, pulling his hand away from Peter’s. Peter almost gasped at the feeling of loss, but controlled himself with effort. “We’re not – This isn’t –” Wade cut himself off with a frustrated noise.

    Irrationally, Peter’s eyes began to fill with tears. He wiped at them, horrified at his own reaction. Wade was right – there was something off about this whole situation. Why wasn’t Peter more worried about his identity? Why did he want to touch Wade? He liked Wade, yes – his company, specifically – but this was going a little too far.

    “Oh shit, Spidey, why are you crying?” Wade brushed his fingers along Peter’s cheek. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you fucking cry. Always messing shit up…”

    “No,” Peter said quickly, shaking his head. “You’re right. This is – Something isn’t right. I should be terrified, Wade. You know who I am.”

    Wade blinked slowly. “The power of the artificial bond,” he offered.

    “But why?” Peter asked, baffled. He glanced at his pinkie, watching the thread around it grow taut and then relax. There was something beautiful in the way it moved, but Peter was feeling too antsy to appreciate it properly. “I need to go,” he said abruptly.

    “What about our plan to save –” Wade began, but Peter shook his head.

    “I can’t – I’ll be back. Soon, I promise. This isn’t about anything to do with you, Wade,” Peter added, injecting as much sincerity as he could into his voice. “I swear, I just need a little bit of time to get my head around this.”

    Wade nodded sagely. “No worries, web-head. Take all the time you need.”

    Peter worried about the look in Wade’s eyes, but he really did need some space. This was all happening very quickly – artificial bond or not – and Peter needed a moment to come to terms with the fact that the best mercenary he knew – arguably the best mercenary _ever_ – knew who he was.

    He turned away, walking over to the couch and pulling on his shirt and mask. He was halfway out the door when a crushing wave a self-loathing swept through him, making him gasp in shock. He clung to the doorframe, riding at the feelings as the crested and crashed through him, leaving him bewildered and close to tears.

    Peter practically fell back through the door, pulled by something he couldn’t resist. He staggered until he found Wade, and then he wrapped himself around the bigger man, sobbing into tense muscles.

    “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he chanted mindlessly, pulling himself tighter around Wade. The mercenary was trembling, a gun held in his hand, pointed in the general vicinity of his own head. Peter shook, hands reaching and pulling the gun from Wade’s frozen fingers, his apologies turning seamlessly into a gentle crooning noise.

    Peter had no idea how long they sat there, wrapped in each other, before some semblance of clarity returned to Peter’s thoughts. He shifted, aware of the ball of contentment coiled in his stomach but not understanding it.

    He wasn’t a tactile person – at least, he didn’t think he was. But he _needed_ the contact now, some part of him screeching utter betrayal that he’d been about to leave, about to go…

    Eventually, Wade broke the silence. “There is definitely something wrong with this situation,” he croaked. His fingers were tracing idle patterns on Peter’s back, touch light. “This is ten different kinds of fucked up.”

    Peter offered a sound of amusement. “So wrong,” he muttered. By now, his brain was working enough to realize that this was all likely a result of the new thread. A terrifying realization, certainly. The thought of leaving Wade again made him whimper at the pain that snarled through him, and Peter wondered if this was what FFY wanted.

    It was a thought that was too terrifying to contemplate in the wake of such emotional turmoil, but Peter promised himself he would look at it later.

    Wade groaned and buried his face into Peter’s neck. “I wish this was real,” he breathed.

    “Me too,” Peter whispered back, a stab of pain making his eyes water. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only a few chapters left of this fic, I think. Maybe five or so. I apologize for being away for so long >.>
> 
> I hope you enjoy the new chapter, let me know in the comments what you think :)


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